


You're My Everything

by waroftheposes



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, So much angst, This is actually just angst, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: Omar wakes up with a jolt.His dream swirls around his head, vivid, lingering, all-consuming. His heart pounds in his chest. The nightmare that had woken him courses through his veins with every heartbeat, making his arms shake and his breathing shallow. For a moment, Omar thinks he can’t breathe, or if he’s breathing, oxygen is not reaching lungs.He's gone.
Relationships: Ander Muñoz/Omar Shana
Comments: 29
Kudos: 386





	You're My Everything

**Author's Note:**

> _ya que eres mi todo_  
>  \--  
> thank you to my two betas, who combed through this fic and made it less shitty.

Omar wakes up with a jolt.

His dream swirls around his head, vivid, lingering, all-consuming. His heart pounds in his chest. The nightmare that had woken him courses through his veins with every heartbeat, making his arms shake and his breathing shallow. For a moment, Omar thinks he _can’t_ breathe, or if he’s breathing, oxygen is not reaching lungs. He shakes his head, blinking his eyes open, then squeezing them shut. The dream lingers in his thoughts, in his heart, too real to shake off, refusing to leave his system.

It had been brief and cutting, culminating in a single, horrifying text.

_He’s gone._

Omar shivers as the dream replays in his mind. He can see the text from the dream displayed behind his eyelids.

_He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone._

Omar quickly opens his eyes and turns his head.

Ander is sleeping next to him, turned on his side, facing Omar. His breathing is even and easy. He’s alive.

Omar sighs. The nightmare had been so vivid that, for a moment, Omar had been scared that it was real; that although he had woken up in Ander’s bedroom, Ander himself would not be here. He’d been afraid that what Guzman’s text in the dream had said had in fact come to pass, that Ander was gone. Seeing him asleep, breathing, alive and within arm’s reach relieves Omar to a certain extent.

_He’s ok. He’s sleeping right here. It was just a nightmare._

Lifting himself on one elbow, Omar studies Ander’s features. Ander’s mouth is slightly open and relaxed. The muscles in his face are not drawn up, there are no wrinkles on his forehead. Omar’s gaze lifts to the top of Ander’s head where his hair is starting to grow back.

With a clarity he wishes he could forget and a bitter taste in his mouth, Omar remembers the morning when Ander’s hair began falling off. He can almost feel the strands of Ander’s hair between his fingers, can almost feel himself unintentionally pulling off a clump of hair. Omar reaches out towards Ander, to alleviate his own anxiety, to touch Ander and make sure he’s _real_ and he’s _here_. He hesitates just before his fingers touch Ander’s head. He doesn’t want to feel Ander’s newly growing hair, too short to curl. He doesn’t want his fingers to fall through the empty place where Ander's curls used to be. He won’t be able to stop himself from crying then.

“I almost broke down,” he whispers to Ander’s sleeping form instead. Omar has always been a no nonsense guy, the kind that would think it ridiculous to talk to his sleeping boyfriend. But his nightmare and now the memory of shaving Ander’s head have made him irrational.

That morning when he’d run his fingers through Ander’s hair and pulled away a clump, he had been flooded with fear, surprise and worry. Omar had felt so overwhelmed that he had not known how to react. He’d felt something heavy and dull in his heart. He’d felt the urge to scream and run, to go back to sleep and wake up in a universe where Ander wasn’t dying.

He’d tried to reassure himself it was nothing, that nothing was wrong.

It hadn’t worked.

Omar sits up, careful not to move the bed too much as to not awaken Ander. He raises his knees, putting his palms on his knees and resting his head on them, glancing down again toward Ander.

“I think the problem was,” he starts, still whispering, “I couldn’t comprehend it, like my mind literally couldn’t _get_ the reality that you were getting worse.”

Ander sighs in his sleep.

Charmed, Omar reaches out without meaning to and places the back of his hand on Ander’s cheek. He feels Ander’s face twitch and removes his hand just as Ander blinks his eyes open.

He didn’t want to wake Ander up, but seeing him awake- _-alive,_ his mind screams--makes Omar even more relieved. “Hey sleepy.”

Ander squints at him, yawns, places both hands under his head to rest his cheeks on them and smiles at Omar. “What time is it?”

Omar shrugs. It’s light outside, so morning, but he doesn’t know or care about the specifics.

“Why are you up?”

Omar considers his answer. He _could_ lie and not bother Ander with his stupid problems, but ever since… well, ever since they got back together, Omar doesn’t feel like lying. “I had a nightmare.”

Ander hums in response, his eyes closing. “What was it about?”

_You died._

Omar doesn’t say anything for a long time. Before, when Ander’s condition was getting worse despite the chemo, Omar would actively try to stop himself from thinking about how sick Ander was. He thinks that as a result of choking down his feelings during the day, his anxiety came pouring out during the night. Omar had constant stress dreams in which he’d had to watch Ander slowly die. Dreams where he’d wake up with his heart racing and with his breath short. Dreams that had left him feeling hollow and shaken, that left him awake, alert, and ready to scream for hours. Dreams that he hadn’t been able to share with Ander because no matter how scared Omar had been, Ander had been the one dying.

“Omar?” Ander opens his eyes after a moment of silence. “What was your nightmare about?”

Omar doesn’t answer, doesn’t know what to say. He’s not even sure why he had that nightmare. First, he hasn’t had nightmares about Ander dying in weeks. Second, his old nightmares, the ones he used to get before Ander was in remission, featured Ander going through chemo, slowly deteriorating and dying before Omar’s eyes. In this most recent nightmare, he had been in New York with his sister and Lu and he’d gotten a text from Guzman saying simply, _he’s gone._

“Hey,” Ander sits up, mimicking Omar’s posture. He takes one of Omar’s hands in his own and squeezes it.

“I miss your hair.”

Ander smiles, understanding. “It’s ok.”

“I hated shaving it off. My hands were shaking.”

“I know.”

Omar raises his head from his knees and leans back against the wall.

“It’ll grow back.”

“I know.” Omar sighs. He hates that _he_ needs Ander’s reassurance. He should be reassuring Ander. Ander is the one who almost died. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

Ander leans forward, resting his head on Omar’s knees, where Omar’s head had been just a moment ago. “Don’t lie to me, then.”

“I don’t want to tell you what my nightmare was.”

“Tell me another truth,” Ander says.

Omar closes his eyes. “I used to have a similar sort of nightmare when you were going through chemo and the doctors had little hope of you getting better,” he admits. “During the day, I would pretend like everything was ok, that you were not getting sicker, I wouldn’t think about it. I would actively avoid thinking about your diagnosis. Then at night I would close my eyes and the nightmares would come.”

“I died.”

Omar squeezes his closed eyes tight as he feels heat gathering in them. His throat hurts, and he has to fight to get the next words out. “I was so scared.”

Despite his closed eyes and despite his attempt to hold them in, tears begin falling down Omar’s cheeks.

He feels Ander’s head lifting from his knees and a moment later, fingers gently wipe at his face. “I’m sorry.”

Omar opens his eyes, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Pardon?”

Ander leans forward, brushing his lips gently against Omar’s, lingering for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to Omar’s lips.

Omar grabs Ander’s shoulders and pushes him away enough so that he can glare at him. “Why are you apologizing to me?” He asks, confusion making his words sound accusatory. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t your fault you got fucking cancer.”

Ander shakes his head, a small movement to the right, then left. “No,” he says. “But it is my fault that you’re in love with me.” There’s a teasing smile on Ander’s lips. “If I hadn’t made you fall in love with me, then you wouldn’t have been so scared.”

A small laugh escapes Omar. “You didn’t make me do anything.” He’s smiling too now, a little bit, though his throat still hurts.

“Bullshit,” Ander says, his smile growing. “If I hadn’t made you, you wouldn’t have even talked to me after Samu’s party.”

“I don’t like this hypothetical timeline where you didn’t force me to talk to you,” Omar says. He leans forward, framing Ander’s face with his hands and gently kissing his nose.

“Even though our actual timeline gave you PTSD?” Ander asks.

Omar pushes his head away with one palm. “Idiot.”

Ander laughs, a loud, clear laugh, filled with joy, which makes Omar’s smile widen. He watches Ander fall down on the bed. He follows, almost without thinking, settling on top of Ander and covering Ander’s body with his own. Once Omar is situated comfortably, Ander wraps his hands around Omar’s neck, looking up at him through his lashes.

And he’s so beautiful, despite having lost weight, despite having had to shave his head, that Omar has to close his eyes for a moment.

When he opens them, Ander is watching him thoughtfully. “But seriously,” Ander says. “I _am_ sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not understanding how my being sick affected you,” Ander says. “For pushing you away. For taking so much support from you without offering you anything in return.”

“Ander…” Omar pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I didn’t expect anything from you. You literally were suffering from cancer.”

“I know but… you took care of me. Who took care of you?”

Omar, not having an answer and feeling a guilt he’s tried to ignore for weeks, glances away. When he tries to turn his head away from Ander, Ander’s hands firmly turn it back towards himself.

“Omar,” Ander says. “I never thanked you.”

Omar shakes his head, avoiding Ander’s eyes. Suddenly he cannot be still, cannot stop his leg from shaking. If Ander weren’t holding on to him, Omar thinks he would get up and run away. “Don’t thank me,” he forces out through his teeth. “Please.”

“Omar.” Ander says his name with so much affection that for the second time in less than five minutes, Omar feels tears in his eyes.

“Don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Don’t you?” Ander asks. “Didn’t you stay with me even though I was trying to be a strong romantic hero? You saw right through my bullshit and did exactly what I needed you to do, you _stayed._ ”

“Yeah, but…”

“And _you’re_ the reason Guzman started talking to me again. You know I wouldn’t have told him, right? You’re the reason he forgave me…”

“Ander--”

“And you shaved my head, even though _I_ saw the look on your face. I saw how much it was hurting you.”

Omar shakes his head, opens his mouth to disagree but Ander beats him to it.

“Your grades went to shit, you did nothing but work and take care of me. And then afterwards... you chose to stay with me, even though you didn’t know I’d get better, even though you could have gone to New York with Nadia. You _chose_ me.”

Omar squeezes his eyes shut as more tears fall from them. “I love you,” he says, honestly. “You and only you. I never stopped loving you. Even when you kicked me out, I tried to stop thinking about you and couldn’t. I tried so hard… But you don’t know…” he runs his hand through his hair, resisting the urge to pull on it, and sits up. He looks through the open blinds at the sky outside of Ander’s room as he continues speaking. “Ander… I fucked up.”

Omar hears shuffling, then feels a little tickle as Ander puts his head on Omar’s bare shoulder. Then he feels Ander’s body moving behind him, shifting as his chin digs into Omar’s shoulder and he kisses Omar’s cheek softly. Omar closes his eyes, not trusting himself to look at Ander, to say or do anything.

“I know.”

Overwhelmed with astonishment and thinking that he might have misheard Ander, Omar turns around, mouth slightly ajar and eyebrows knitted together. “What?” He looks into Ander’s eyes, the first time all morning that he’s been able to do that for more than a glance.

Ander shrugs, it’s a small movement of his shoulders. “I know,” he says, his gaze drops from Omar’s eyes to his chin, and there’s a small, almost imperceptible lift to the side of his lips. “I found out.” He glances back at Omar’s eyes. “Then I made up the thing about Alexis.”

Understanding hits Omar with such a force that he laughs. It’s a quick, harsh laugh, more of an exhale. He swallows, forcing himself to say something, anything. All he manages is a “You--” before Ander lifts his palm to silence him.

“I was in a bad place, Omar,” he says, holding Omar’s gaze. “I thought I would die. I didn’t want to keep you shackled with me when there was another option for you.”

“Shackled?” Omar repeats. Then, “what do you mean another option?”

Omar watches, immobile as Ander rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands. Ander takes in a deep, shaky breath. When he exhales, he drops his hands down to his lap and looks at Omar, determined. “Malick. He was your other option. He told me he was crazy about you and you were crazy about him, the only thing in the way was me. And I thought…” he stops, but Omar is too stupefied to interject. “I thought if you believed I had wronged you, then you wouldn’t feel like you had to stay with me.” Ander swallows, then grabs both of Omar’s hands with his own, looking at him earnestly. “I don’t blame you for what you did Omar. I don’t. I get how hard everything must have been for you.”

Omar shakes his head. Thoughts are racing through his mind, too fast for him to grab on to. Desperately, he tries to form a sentence, to say something in response, but words--even language--elude him.

He drops his gaze from Ander’s face to their clasped hands. Turning Ander’s hand palm up, he drops his face into it, kissing it softly. He stays there for several breaths. When he raises his head, Ander is smiling at him.

“I didn’t think.” Omar’s voice is raw with emotion. He closes his eyes, feeling them wet with tears for the third time this morning. “I didn’t think… I needed to do it and I did it. I needed to not think about you because every time I did, it felt like my heart was breaking into pieces and so I--” Omar opens his eyes, ignoring the tears now rolling freely down his cheeks and into his neck. “I fucked up.”

Ander’s hand comes up to cradle his face. “It’s ok.”

“I never felt shackled to you,” Omar continues, looking earnestly into Ander’s eyes, willing him to believe it. “I don’t know what Malick told you, but whatever he said, it was wrong. I never once thought that I _had to_ stay with you. I love you. I love you so much, I _wanted_ to stay with you. I wanted to take care of you, I also wanted you to get better and you…” Omar stops, needing to take a breath. “You weren’t getting better.” His voice breaks. “You were dying and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

For the first time since the conversation began, Omar sees some cracks in Ander’s composure. His eyes shift, and he bites his bottom lip with his teeth. “I don’t blame you, Omar. It wasn’t easy for you.”

“What did he tell you?”

Omar watches Ander’s face, sees the lines emerging and disappearing as he battles with himself, then Ander looks up at Omar. “I read the texts that he sent you, where he said you could leave me, that you didn’t have to be in prison anymore. I figured...” Ander looks away. “I figured I was the prison.”

“Fuck.” Escapes Omar before he can stop himself. He drops his head into his hands, needing a moment to quell down the rage--at himself, at Malick, at Ander’s stupid fucking cancer. “I never said you were a prison, you hear me?” Omar says, voice shaking. “I said _the diagnosis_ was a prison. I said watching you getting worse without any hope was a prison.” Omar has to stop and take a breath, because his heart rate is picking up as he speaks and he thinks his voice is getting louder. “It was on the day that we found out you had to do more therapy and I was going crazy. I never, ever meant _you.”_

Ander nods. “Ok.”

“I was going out of mind, but I was also selfish,” Omar says, he feels tears in the hollow behind his nostrils and at the top of his lips, but he doesn’t brush them away. “You’re being too understanding with me. I acted like a dick while you were sick.”

Ander nods, his eyes red with unshed tears. Omar hates that he’s made Ander this upset. He hates that he brought up the awful time when they didn’t know whether Ander would make it. When they both feared and had nightmares and saw Ander getting lost in his disease every day. 

“I don’t blame you.” Ander reaches up and wipes Omar’s tears away with his fingertips. “Ok? I’m serious. I don’t blame you. You’re here now, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come back. If our conversation after Polo’s death had been the last time we actually talked…”

Omar hates that thought, he hates that Ander has vocalized it. “You should have tried harder to get me to stay.”

“I didn’t want to force you to do something you didn’t want to do,” Ander says. “I thought that you didn’t want to stay with me because you had feelings for Malick.”

Omar furrows his brows. “Why?”

“I heard you say you had feelings for him,” Ander says, voice quiet. “I followed you after graduation, to talk?”

Omar hangs his head, frustrated. “Shit.”

“I heard you say it wasn’t just a hookup for you,” Ander continues. “And I wanted to tell you to stay with me, I _wanted_ to tell you how badly I needed you to stay,” Ander stops, his face breaking. He closes his eyes, pressing his eyes together and taking a deep break. “But Malick had told me you had feelings for him and then you said to him that you did… and I didn’t want to get in the way of you and your happiness.”

Unable to say anything in response, Omar shakes his head, wiping again at his tears with his hands, trying to dry his cheeks, then dropping his head onto Ander’s shoulder. “You goddamn martyr.”

He sees Ander smiling from the corner of his eyes before he closes them and kisses Ander’s shoulder softly. “Don’t ever push me away for my own good again.”

“I won’t.” Ander says, raising his shoulder to make Omar rise and kissing him as soon as their faces are level. “Hey,” he says after he pulls back. “I forgive you.”

Omar swallows. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I know.”

“I never stopped.”

Ander shakes his head. “I know.” He pauses looking unsure. The silence goes on, heavy, unbearable, until Ander seems to make up his mind and says, “I have one question.”

“Ask.”

Ander’s gaze will not meet Omar’s. “ _Did_ you have feelings for him?”

Omar shakes his head no, trying to gather his thoughts. “I tried to, after you broke up with me and I didn’t have you anymore. I tried to tell myself that I had feelings for him, that’s what you heard on graduation day. But I couldn’t even hold a conversation with him without getting angry. He wasn’t really a person to me, Ander…” Omar pauses, one hand gently turning Ander’s chin so he can look him in the eyes. “He was an escape. How could I have feelings for someone when their only use was to help me forget?”

Ander nods. “Are you sure? Because I won’t be mad, I promise… if you did.”

“I didn’t.” Omar is firm. “Even when I tried to make myself have feelings for him I didn’t. I promise. Believe me?”

Ander nods, looking down, the corners of his lips lifting. His shoulders relax as he blinks. When he looks up, his smile is wider. “I believe you.”

With a deep sigh, Ander drops himself down on the bed. He motions for Omar, who willingly follows him down, placing his forehead against Ander’s. Instead of kissing him though, Ander wraps his arms around Omar’s shoulder and presses their chests together, hugging him tightly.

Omar closes his eyes, letting Ander hold him and feeling himself calm down. He’s not sure how long they stay there, quietly holding each other, but eventually Omar feels Ander fidgeting.He thinks that Ander has had enough of Omar’s weight resting on top of him, and moves to lie on his stomach.

“Should we go back to sleep?” He asks, throwing one arm over Ander’s torso and burrowing his head in the space between Ander’s neck and shoulders. He kisses the spot softly, then raises his lips higher, kissing Ander’s neck. “I still don’t know what time it is.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” Ander says, extending his neck so that Omar can continue placing soft kisses on it.

“What do you want to do then?” Omar kisses Ander’s chin, then his cheek, raising himself up on his elbows so that he can continue to place soft kisses on Ander’s face. When he gets to Ander’s forehead, Ander’s hands come up to move his head away, just enough so that Ander can gaze into his eyes.

Ander’s smile as he answers is less of a smile and more of a grin. “I want to play video games.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from my favorite song to associate with Omar/Ander these days, _Morir Solo_ by Prince Royce.  
> \--  
> Prompts I mixed together for this fic:  
> 1\. Can you write Omar telling ander about malick 😈 (but really I wish we had seen that)  
> 2\. Yesss I’ve got a prompt: Omar’s apologies to Ander would be nice!  
> 3.Hiii! You still taking prompts? Id like to read Omar’s pov and how he was dealing with the situation and Ander’s illness  
> 4\. Hi!! Of you are taking prompts maybe you could write somthing from Omars pov like when Anders hair started to fall. Thsnk u
> 
> Hope this met everyone's expectations. I broke my own heart several times writing this fic. Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://waroftheposes.tumblr.com/) about Elite I personally enjoyed the hell out of season 3.


End file.
